Promise of the World
by Thel Rome
Summary: A Fleurmione parody of "Howl's moving Castle." Hermione is put under a curse after meeting a notorious witch with a bad reputation for stealing hearts.
1. Strolling Through the Sky

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything in relation to Walt Disney, Studio Ghibli, or J. K. Rowling's world of Harry Potter. This is merely fanfiction.

**Author Note**: Well, I was on tumblr the other day and saw someone who posted their thoughts on how great it would be to make a cross over of Fleurmione and Howl's Moving Castle, and I agree with them wholeheartedly. Let me make it clear that this version is of Disney and Studio Ghibli's recreation of Howl's Moving Castle, not the original novel by Diana Wynne Jones (it is great, though slightly more confusing.) Reviews/critiques are highly welcomed. _(By the way, my main mission was to begin as closely to the storyline of the movie as possible, that is why some lines are taken directly from the movie and others are modified versions of what is said in the movie. I will deviate more as the story goes.)_ THIS IS A FLEURMIONE PARODY.

**I – Strolling Through the Sky**

The fog that day had been thicker than usual. Maybe she should have taken it as an omen, but then again she had never been one for superstition, ever the practical and logical mind that she was. No, such beliefs were held by silly women, interlaced within their own circles and gossip behind those impractically ornate fans and hats. And heavens knew her disposition was not inclined towards gossip.

The droning of a busy little town alive with the smells of smoke and bread hummed outside the quiet walls of her family's small bookshop. The sun had barely begun to rise and yet there she stood, already made and preparing for the day as was per routine. Today would be like any other day but for one exception; today, she was venturing out into the busier side of town, near where the pubs and taverns lined the streets and the militia was housed when on tour. It was common knowledge that the military presence boosted the economy and local businesses there, allowing for larger and more luxurious accommodations in comparison to those of the outskirts of the city where her family had always resided and probably would still be longer after she was gone. It was also common knowledge that the militia presence also made it unsavory for a young woman to walk the streets unaccompanied.

Still, Hermione Granger never feared the rumors and insisted on making the journey accompanied or not. Today she was going to visit her friend, Luna Lovegood, at the flower shop. They had been friends throughout their time at school together and now that Luna had recently taken up residence there in London, and subsequently finding a job at the heart of it, Hermione felt inclined to pay her a visit in place of her usual letters.

The young brunette had meant to start her trip early in the afternoon, estimating that between the brief walks and rides on the trolleys she could make it to the flower shop and back before supper, but as the fates would have it, finishing her chores around the shop took a bit longer than she had anticipated. Still, she thought as she gazed out the small window of the backroom, it wasn't too late. She could still make it back before nightfall if she hurried. A sudden knock at the door behind her made her jump, ripping her away from her reveries.

"Hermione," a kind voice called. "We've just closed the shop. You've done enough work, why don't you come out with us this time?"

It was Martha, her mother's old friend. Though kind and amiable, she was not the kind of company Hermione sought out, and neither were her younger associates. She couldn't help an inner sigh at the thought of the lot. If they did just a little less gossiping and a little more of what they were supposed to there wouldn't be any need for her to manage the shop from dawn until dusk like she usually did most days. Still, she managed a smile in return for the offer, though she had no intention of accepting it. And neither did she want to offend them with the information that she already had plans to see someone else. They wouldn't think twice to her declination and write it off to her lack of sociability.

"No, I'd better finish this. You go and have fun," she kept up her smile, hoping that they wouldn't insist. As if on cue, the older woman shrugged and began to turn back to the main room. Hermione had the slightest suspicion that she had only asked her out of pity.

"Alright, suit yourself," she turned to gather her things "Let's go girls."

Just as the brunette was about to get up from her seat upon hearing the women gather their things to leave, she heard one of them gasp, followed by hurried footsteps towards the windows.

"Look, it's Howl's castle!" she exclaimed, all the women seeming to follow her direction, gazing out the window and whispering excitedly in hushed voices. Out of curiosity Hermione turned to gaze out the window as well, focusing her vision to the distant hills where she caught a brief glance of a moving vessel before it vanished back into the thick fog.

It had been a long time since a witch had made an appearance in London, and though many of the townspeople thought it a bad sign and shut their blinds and eyes to the news, Hermione only held curiosity at the sight. She had never before had an encounter with a wizard and the thought of it both scared and thrilled her at once. Scared because of the rumors that had circled around the name Howl, but thrilled at the concept of experiencing something more than what the quaint, provincial side of London could offer.

"He's gone," another, younger voice rang, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.

"No, he's hiding in the fog from those planes," stated another in a matter-of-fact way. "Did you hear what happened to that girl, Martha, from Southhaven? They say Howl tore her heart out!"

"Now I'm too scared to go out!" the first nearly whimpered dramatically and Hermione supposed that that was how a sane person would react. She briefly contemplated her own sanity. This was not the first rumor of a young girl falling "prey" to Howl nor would it be the last. The wizard had quite the horrible reputation as a womanizer and tramp.

"Don't worry, he only preys on pretty girls," the second teased in a playful tone, the whole lot of them bursting out in laughter.

An indignant smile crossed the girl's lips. Between the militia and Howl any normal woman in her right mind would stay at home, safely behind closed doors. But Hermione had neither the mind nor spirit for such restrictions. Any anyway, both parties would only chase pretty girls, and if there was one thing Hermione never thought herself, it was pretty.

She absentmindedly touched her curly, auburn hair that had grown frizzy with the humidity in the air that day. It wasn't until she heard the sound of the front door shut that she was once again pulled from her reverie, and, suddenly remembering the time, quickly gathered her things and headed out the door.

Apparently, the country's military was out on a larger campaign than usual, the streets lined with tanks and the air planes that carried large banners with the royal family's insignia. The bands played a royal march as soldiers on both foot and horses lined the main streets, locals lining the sidewalks to cheer them on. There must be a war brewing with such displays of nationalism, thought Hermione as she struggled to find a place on the trolleys leading to the main heart of London.

'_It's going to take ages to clean all the confetti off the streets at this rate,'_ she eyed the scores of it falling delicately, shimmering in the sunlight as it drifted down from every rooftop.

After what seemed hours of confined space and near claustrophobia at the back of an overcrowded trolley, Hermione finally exited a few streets away from her destination. Reluctant to take the main streets overflowing with citizens and far too much commotion for her tastes, she quickly pulled the address from her pocket and proceeded to navigate the back streets. Although still maintaining a few soldiers at key places, the brunette figured that their quiet and emptiness would offer a better environment to gather her thoughts as she traversed the narrow alleyways. She also figured that if she acted as if in a hurry to get somewhere, the less likely she was to be bothered by anyone. That is, until her theory was disproven when she caught herself running into a tall, broad-shouldered man in a blue and red militia uniform. She tried not to let the sudden anxiety show in her eyes then, but she felt her body freeze to the spot as she heard the cool arrogance seep from his words.

"Hey, looks like a little mouse lost its way," he grinned, eyeing her over as he leaned in. His casual posture, his elbow resting against the nearby wall with his other hand on his hip, betrayed the intent evident in his eyes.

"Oh, no, I'm not lost," Hermione stepped back, forcing herself not to think of the tales she had heard of women to walked the city streets alone. She knew she feared this man; she was no match in strength if she had to defend herself, and worse yet she was unarmed. But, she thought, even if she had been, it'd be a federal offense to attack a soldier, and it would be his word against hers. And she was nobody.

"This little mouse looks thirsty, we should take her for a cup of tea," he persisted, moving to hold himself against the wall now, his grin and bright eyes ever gleaming. She hated the fact that he was referring her to a mouse. As if she were a helpless, small thing, finding herself caught between the wall and the prowess of a hungry cat.

But that's what she was, now wasn't it? Helpless and defenseless. Out of stubbornness, she tried desperately to calmly walk past the guard, only to be caught by a second at his side. She supposed he had been talking to him this entire time. Again, she found herself forced to step back, the grip of fear creeping upon her faster than before. If she thought herself defenseless before, any hope left was extinguished at the realization that there was no way she could escape two if they so chose to pursue her.

"No thanks, my friend's expecting me," the firmness in her voice faltered at the last syllable, and she cast her eyes downward, avoiding any further eye contact with either. She thought franticly of someway she could escape from the situation unscathed. Though it seemed bleak, her will refused to submit.

"She's pretty cute for a mouse," the second soldier bent over to her eye-level and for a moment Hermione nearly let out a laugh at the enormous mustache that sat on his upper lip, nearly covering half his face. Still, she could not help but feel uneasy at the sudden closeness.

"How old are you anyway? You live around here?" the first guard once again spoke up in a suave voice, leaning even closer, forcing Hermione to take yet another step backward. What personal and forward questions to be asked by a complete stranger! His bold arrogance infuriated her as she finally found the courage in her voice.

"Leave me alone!" she persisted, the feel of anger spilling into her eyes and words, hoping to show that she would not give in easy to any advances.

"You see? Your mustache scares all the girls," the first soldier looked towards his partner who continued to stare at her intently. A mocking tone lingered in his words, this probably wasn't the first time he had advised the other man to abandon his facial hair.

"So? I think she's even cuter when she's scared."

'_This is all a joke to them,'_ she pondered, a seething anger beginning to grip her. She could almost feel the welling of tears begin to build in her frustration and she wished she wasn't the helpless girl she was.

"'Zere you are, ma chérie. Sorry I'm late," and suddenly there was a hand, a light, feminine hand, at her shoulder, accompanied by a low, sultry voice hinted with a smile to her left. "I was looking everywhere for you."

Hermione could feel her eyes go wide and a blush creep onto her cheeks at the unexpected contact. She knew it must've been obvious by her own expression that she was just as surprised by this woman's swift appearance as the two soldiers were. Had they not seen someone walking up towards the group? They had been facing the direction in which she had come after all. The brunette had probably been too distracted by fear to have heard any footsteps.

And who was this mysterious woman anyway? The foreign accent evident in her words had effectively thrown the brunette into confusion and Hermione remained too in shock to turn and face her, though by her periphery vision she could tell that the woman was taller than her. Long, platinum blonde hair that seemed to gleam even in the alleyway shadows reached a moderate chest which was covered in a loose white blouse. Hermione's eyes were fixated to what hung there. An opaque azure stone in the shape of a teardrop, fixed on a gold chain with a small ruby connected lay suspended next to her as she felt the arm of this stranger wrap around her smaller frame. Her eyes had barely begun to take in the sapphire and black argyle jacket with silver cuffs and black slacks when her attention was stripped away once again.

"Hey, we're busy here," the mustached soldier warned indignantly, straightening his back to stand at full height. However, both guards' demeanor quickly shifted upon taking a proper glance at her would-be savior. Hermione observed the visible relaxation of their features, both once again dawning their most charming smiles, desire now clearly evident in their voices. Hermione reasoned that this woman must surely be beautiful to elicit such a prompt reaction.

"Through we would never deny the company of such a beautiful woman," the first footman slightly bowed, eyes running down the figure in front of him hungrily. His partner seemed still too in awe to speak.

"Would you really? 'Zat is quite a pity! It looked to me like 'ze two of you were just leaving," the blonde, much to Hermione's astonishment, laughed quietly under her breath. This woman didn't fear the situation they were in, the shorter girl realized in amazement. In fact, her mannerisms and tone exuded nothing but control and confidence.

And with an upward flick of her right index finger, long and graceful, the two men's posture straightened in stiff half-salutes accompanied by strained grunts. The confusion and fear clear-cut in their faces betrayed the fact that their bodies' movements were not of their own accord. A second diagonal flick of her finger and subsequent motion of her hand behind the two women had both soldiers marching off and away behind them without so much as a goodbye.

And with that the heavy veil of fear lifted from Hermione's being, only to be replaced by a curious dread as the realization struck her – she was in the presence of a witch. For a moment she briefly contemplated if she had, as they say, jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Perhaps being left alone with a witch would prove a more dangerous circumstance than that of being cornered by those guards.

"Try to not 'old it against 'zem. 'Zey are really not _all_ 'zat bad. Where are you 'eaded? I'll be your escort 'zis evening."

Hermione chanced a glance up at face of her rescuer, the witch, and there she was met with a pair of dark cerulean eyes gazing back at her. They were disarmingly amiable with dark lashes and a twinge of amusement that played across her features. She wore a subtle smile, yet there was an odd distance in the way she looked at her, as if observing warily. The shorter woman had been right in her assumption of the blonde's height for she found herself staring up, the other woman being nearly a head taller. However, for as much elegance as her mannerisms had held, Hermione found it odd how her hair, platinum colored with a faded golden hue, appeared disheveled, as if she had been in a chase, low cut layers strewed across her face messily.

"Oh, I'm…" Hermione, despite the surge of calm she had felt staring into those eyes, was unsure whether she should divulge where she was going. The witch was dangerous, wasn't she? Yet, she had just saved her, and had not asked for anything but the direction in which to escort her. "I'm…just going to the flower shop."

Her reply had come almost without thinking, a swell in her chest in stubborn courage whose origins she could not determine. There was a slight twinkle in the blonde woman's eyes upon hearing her destination and Hermione could've sworn she briefly saw the corners of the witch's smile hitch ever so slightly, though the expression vanished just as quickly as she leaned down toward the brunette, leaving only a few inches between them.

"Do not be alarmed, but I am being followed. Act normal," she whispered, unknowingly sending a subtle flush to Hermione's cheeks at the near contact. The brunette wondered if even her voice was bewitched, but as she felt the taller woman's arm entwine with her own, gently pulling her forward on their way, the thought was pushed away in favor of the conclusion that _every_ part of the other woman was enchanted.

'_So much for a quiet day out in the town,'_ Hermione thought, trying to keep up with the blonde's long strides. Her practical, logical nature would never admit to being intrigued by the thought of danger, whatever it was this witch was involved with, much less admit the sensations she was feeling due to their close contact. _'Luna's not going to believe me when I tell her.'_

Hermione fleetingly contemplated the advice given. _'Act normal,' _the witch had instructed. But, really, she realized, there was nothing _normal_ about them. Not in the way she had never been to this part of town before, not in the way the blonde witch was dressed (which was more masculine than she had expected a woman of her beauty to be dressed like,) and absolutely not in the way they were paired together, their company in one another as likely a companionship as that between a hawk and hare.

A cold chill swept in from behind abruptly, the alleyway suddenly growing darker, and Hermione felt herself stiffen, willing herself to not look behind. The light sound of creaking wood and the smell of tar overtook her senses, a telling sign of how close danger lurked. Out of instinct, she clung to the blonde's arm closer than before, trying to cover her nose and mouth from the stench with her free hand.

"Sorry, it looks like you have become involved," the witch sighed. If she felt the same anxiousness Hermione was now feeling, the blonde did not show it, her face ever calm. And that is when the shorter woman saw them, black, faceless figures materializing from the walls and floor of the alleyway ahead of them.

"'Zis way," the taller woman commanded, pulling them to take a left onto a brighter corridor, her pace quickening. Hermione took hold of the blonde woman's arm with both hands now, trying to keep up with her. Her anxiety grew as she began to hear the low growls of the figures approaching quickly. And suddenly, they were cornered, more materializing a few yards ahead of them, blocking their only path.

Hermione heard the gasp escape her lips as her eyes widened at the realization just as she felt the witch's arm encircle her waist. The figures lunged at them and she shut her eyes, bracing herself for impact.

"Not giving up 'zat easily, are you? 'Old on," the witch chuckled, suddenly lunging them into the air. A crash could be heard from below them and Hermione chanced a glance down, unbelieving at how high they had leaped, and they were still ascending. She uttered a small cry, grasping at the other woman as they raised into the air, higher than the rooftops, a rush of weightlessness overwhelming her. Hermione turned to the witch, suddenly aware that she was holding her hand, finding a gentle smile and a nod downward as they began to descend slowly, almost feature-like.

"Now, straighten your legs and start walking," the gentle whisper in her ear over the crowded, noisy streets below dispelled whatever fear remained within her at the thought of falling; and she found herself blushing when the blonde softly moved to hold both her hands in her own, her gaze providing a kind assurance of her safety.

Slowly she stretched out her legs in a walking motion, still feeling odd at the nothing at her feet. Her breath caught in her chest as gazed down onto the city below. The points of houses and shops lined her vision for what seemed miles, the umbrellas of shops and the buzzing people underneath and around them small enough to be unrecognizable by features alone. If ever a way there was to see the city sights, Hermione ventured in awe, then this would be the ideal. A small smile crept onto her lips then, as they slowly strolled their way through the sky.

"See, it is not so difficult, no?" The blonde's entertainment was evident in her words, in her smile, in the closeness she held the smaller woman in. She could see the way Hermione had quickly picked up on the magic of stepping, the uneasiness gone from her body language. And together they continued to walk towards the main square in mutual delight. "You are quite the natural."

The brunette could not keep the blush that rose to her cheeks at bay in light of the compliment and the astonishment of it all struck her as she and the witch stepped off the peak of a nearby steeple. She was walking on air, floating on magic, and all with this mysterious, wondrous beauty at her side. And with the thought of the other woman's beauty, they began to descend, down onto the top balcony of a four-story building.

Hermione's blush drained into embarrassment, wondering why on earth this stranger was being so kind to her, she of no significant name or prettiness or wealth. As she gently connected with solid floor, she once again looked up towards the blonde who stood on the thick wooden railing. And as their eyes locked once again, her thoughts were banished.

"I will make sure to draw them off, but do not leave 'zis place for a while," the cool confidence of her drawl inciting a smile from the smaller woman. She knew that accent, it was French, and she realized that she had never managed to ask her rescuer's name.

"Okay, but wait! Thank you, for before," she sputtered, thinking back to all that had transpired in such a short period of time. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought it all to be only the worst and best dream she had ever dreamt. "What's your name?"

"My name is Fleur Delacour," the blonde woman replied after a moment, bowing slightly. Slowly, she leaned in, her eyes never leaving Hermione's. "But I am also known as ''owl.'"

Eyes growing wide, Hermione stepped back in shock and at a loss for words. Had she heard right? The woman before her could not be the Howl she had heard of. Yet, somehow, she believed the woman's words.

"Until next time," Fleur smiled and for a moment Hermione could have sworn she saw a glimpse of disappointment in those dark blue eyes of hers. The brunette made her way toward the blonde, a sudden urge to touch the other woman's hand urging her forward, but before she could reach out to her, Fleur stepped back, jumping off the railing into the crowded streets below. She had already vanished when Hermione reached the railing, gazing down at the bustling city street below for any sign of faded golden hue.


	2. The Ninety Year Old Young Girl

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything in relation to Walt Disney, Studio Ghibli, or J. K. Rowling's world of Harry Potter. This is merely fanfiction.

**Author Note**: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorite/followed, you all really do make my day. I understand that this story may not appeal to all Fleurmione fans since it's set in a different world other than that of Harry Potter, so I thank everyone who's given the story a chance.

**II – The Ninety Year Old Young Girl **

"Hermione!"

Reluctantly brought out of her thoughts, the brunette turned to see a familiar face rushing down the hall towards her, the other woman's blonde hair ruffled and eyes betraying the worry hidden behind her calm demeanor. Collision would have been imminent had the blonde not abruptly stopped and grabbed her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. The worry was apparent now in all her features, though, after a brief inspection, she seemed to relax.

"Luna…" Hermione found herself at a loss for words. So much had happened in such a short time, things she felt should've been a dream. But the reality of the events that had only transpired minutes before began to weigh heavily, the gravity of the situations coming to light. It weighed down, trapping the words in her throat and all she could find herself able to do was look at her friend in a lost way.

"What's going on? Someone told me you floated down onto the balcony!" Her words served to cement that gravity. Heavier it grew, weighing her down and she felt herself slipping, drowning in that disbelief as she sank to her knees. Her hands still gripped on to Luna's and her stomach sank as her heart soared thinking back to those blue filled eyes. They haunted her and her intuition suspected that today would not be the last time she saw them.

"So that did happen? It wasn't a dream?" She found her voice, but it did not sound like her own – hollowed and distant. She looked up towards Luna, who had knelt down beside her, suddenly remembering where she was again. The worry had returned to her eyes.

The two women spent the next hour in conversation, Hermione mostly detailing her journey as Luna listened intently, her eyes growing wide at vital parts. She appreciated the other girl's silence as she contemplated her own words, still unbelieving of the lucky misfortune she had encountered on such a seemingly normal day.

"She must've been a witch then!" Luna exclaimed at the end of it all, looking at Hermione with a mixture of astonishment and reserve. Hermione understood the hesitation in her voice, of the implications it meant to have run into a witch in the heart of the city. It was an unheard of occurrence these days.

With the militia mobilization and the sudden appearance of a notorious witch within the city walls, not to mention whatever those blob men were, Hermione had an unsettling feeling that something was stirring within the country. Still, even if she had met the notorious Howl…

"But she was so _kind_ to me. She _rescued _me, Luna." Again, her voice seemed not her own, distantly thoughtful. She could almost see the anxiety in Luna's gaze as she stared off into the distance, her thoughts once again returning to the mysterious Howl. _Fleur_. That was her name, or at least what she had said her name was. Hermione had barely registered a sigh escaping her lips as Luna's voice broke the silence.

"Of course she did, she was trying to steal your heart," she contemplated quietly, her eyes downcast to her knees. "You are so lucky, Hermione. If that witch really had been Howl, she would've eaten it."

No matter Luna's assumption, Hermione knew the witch to be Howl. _What a strange alias_, she considered briefly, wondering how the beautiful woman had acquired such a moniker. Fleur was…beautiful…and she was not.

"No she wouldn't, Howl does that to beautiful girls," the whisper mirrored its ensuing sigh and no words could describe the sinking sensation of her heart the left her lips. Had that been the reason the woman had been so kind to her? Had her intentions been out of pity? Could she really be that lacking in beauty that even the relentless Howl had taken sympathy? She laughed inwardly at herself.

"Don't give me that!" Luna quickly chastised her, however, softening her tone almost instantly, continued. "You need to be more careful, it's dangerous out there. Even the witch of the waste is back on the prowl." She seemed to consider the looming dangers just like Hermione had moments ago. Something strange was at work, the appearance of witches and battleships and soldiers were evidence of that. She turned to Hermione after no reply had been given. "Are you listening?"

"Huh?" Hermione had indeed lost herself in her own thoughts yet again, her eyes glistened over and staring at nothing. She turned to find Luna staring at her with a quizzical expression a few inches away from her face. If truth were to be told, she hadn't been paying much attention to what the younger woman had just told her.

"Ahh," the blond woman sighed almost crossly, closing her eyes in resignation. Hermione took this as good a sign as any to leave Luna back to her work. It was becoming late anyway and the last thing she wanted was to find herself in another precarious situation. Darkness would be approaching soon and she wished to be back in the safety of her own home before dusk.

"I better get going, I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay," she stood, giving Luna the most reassuring smile she could muster, however, she could not help the fears of the forthcoming trip homeward from resurfacing from within her.

"Hermione, do you really want to spend the rest of your life in that book shop?"

The sudden question struck Hermione as odd. She had never questioned her decision to take over the shop in her father's place once he had passed, yet neither had she ever allowed herself any consideration for where her true desires lay. She had fallen on obligation when she had failed to make the decision on what she wanted to pursue in life. Not that her stepmother had had anything to say in protest. The decision had ultimately proven beneficial to her since it allowed her to continue her life in relative leisure while Hermione worked the business.

"The shop was just so important to father and I'm his only child," she tried to defend her decision, knowing that if this had truly been the arrangement she sought, there would be no need to present justification for it. She quickly added in defeat, "I don't mind."

"I want to know what _you_ want," the younger girl persisted, determination in her eyes and tone that made Hermione smile in fondness. She didn't want to have this conversation. She wouldn't know where to begin because she didn't know what she wanted to begin with.

"I'd better be going," she said softly, leaning in to embrace Luna gently. She had genuinely enjoyed her visit with her, but she longed to be home, and alone, to reflect on the day's events.

"It's your life, Hermione. Do something for yourself for once, will you?" Hermione heard Luna call from behind as she made her way back to the trolley station.

'_Do something for myself… How am I supposed to do that if I don't even know what I want for me?' _she held, appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. "Bye, Luna!"

She really did hope that nothing more awaited her along her journey back home. However, it wouldn't be until later that night that she would realize the true consequences of the day's happenings.

On the trolley Hermione could not help but gaze back at the tall buildings of central London and think back to how it felt walking among those rooftops, hand in hand with… Oh, but she oughtn't to think about her. It was no use. No matter how wonderful she thought the experience to be, she might as well accept that it was fleeting and she would probably never see the woman again. And why would she? It's not as if Fleur would actively seek _her _out. …Why would she?

Hermione couldn't help a sigh at the thought as she came to her destination, the streets now mostly empty of townspeople who had lined it earlier to see the soldiers marching and the royal tanks. All who were left were walking quietly to their homes before night settled around them. Quietly, she too arrived at the entrance of the bookshop and, locking the door behind her after entering, proceeded to check that everything was in order before she headed upstairs to her room.

Lighting the small kerosene lamp cast a warm glow onto the shelves and the walls of the shop, but an unsettling feeling grew in the pit of Hermione's stomach as she observed the eerie quiet amongst the shadows that hung low and long. Suddenly, the ring of a bell, the door's bell, broke the dead silence. Quickly turning to the shop entrance, Hermione nearly gasped as she saw the uncommonly tall figure of a broad-set woman loom at the doorway. Dressed in a long, black satin dress that reached the floor, the olive-skinned woman scanned the room with her dark, black eyes that lay nearly hidden under a large black hat. Her thick neck was lined in an opal necklace that matched dangling earrings. After a moment, the tall woman took a step in, her bright red lips curving into a malicious smile.

"I'm sorry, but the shop's closed now, ma'am. I could've sworn I locked that door. Must've forgotten," Hermione firmly stated after overcoming her initial shock. She could've sworn she had locked the door as she was stepping in. No matter, she needed this woman to leave.

"What a tacky little shop," she sauntered forward, gazing around slowly from left to right and then finally right at Hermione. "Yet, you're by far 'ze tackiest 'zing 'ere."

The woman's apparent rudeness struck a harsh chord within the brunette. She might've been used to her own harsh inner monologue in regards to her appearance, but never was she one to allow herself to be subjected to the abuse, verbal or otherwise, by anyone else. This woman was to be no exception! Gathering her courage, Hermione strode toward the door, willing herself to be firm for she would not give this unknown woman the satisfaction of seeing the anger in her shaking fist.

"I'm afraid you'll have to leave now. The door's over here, ma'am. We're closed," she insisted determinedly, holding the door open for the woman. Even though she desired nothing more than to let the door hit the woman on her way out, she would not afford herself the pleasure if it meant forfeiting her professional poise on such a wretch!

"Standing up to 'ze Witch of 'ze Waste, 'ow plucky!" The woman's laugh illuminated her evil smile and simultaneously struck Hermione's heart with dread as she realized the truth.

'_Sorry, it looks like you 'ave become involved,' _Fleur's voice echoed in memory as she felt her eyes go wide and her breath hitch in her throat, her whole body wrenching. The Witch of the Waste…_here_, after _her_? Had been her who had sent those blob men after Fleur and herself earlier that afternoon? But why was she here, after her? Panic caught in her chest as she managed to scream, "The Witch of the Waste!"

The wicked woman rushed at her then, a hollow laugh resounding around the walls of the shop, within the walls of Hermione's mind, growing and crushing any hopes of escape. Hermione instinctively shut her eyes and held her arms up in defense, sure that she would feel the crash of her attacker's onslaught, but as quickly as it had escalated, the echoing vanished and the night's silence returned. However, the witch was not yet gone.

"Best part of 'zat spell is you cannot tell anyone about it," she mused, her satisfaction dripping with every accented syllable. "My regards to Fleur."

Hermione could not be sure how much time had passed as she stood at the small vanity mirror in the back room, simply staring at a face that could not be hers. Old, withered hands reached up to tenderly feel cheeks that seemed too thin, a brow that was too lined, a nose that had grown too big, hair that had thinned considerably, having turned a fragile shade of white, and eyes that had seen kinder days. She stood there, gazing at the old woman in her mirror with a strange, terrified curiosity as what felt like her hands continued to roam that unfamiliar face. _'Best part of 'zat spell is you cannot tell anyone about it…'_

"That's really me, isn't it?" she spoke in a cracked, foreign voice to the elderly woman in the mirror in disbelief. How could it be her? She had only turned ten and eight years this past September! But, how could the reflection not be her? _She_ was sitting here in front of this mirror; and Hermione knew herself well enough to know her place in existence. But that face was not her own. She saw the old woman's eyes narrow, staring back at her as she remembered the witch's words. A spell. She was under a spell.

She felt the fear and anger begin to seep into her heart at the thought. Quickly, she stood up, noting the ache in her joints and spine that had not been there before. She needed to come up with a plan on how to resolve this, and quickly. A hurried look at the clock told her she had but a few hours left in the day before the morning workers would arrive at the shop, and she began to pace in anxiousness.

"I've got to stay calm. I've got to stay calm," she repeated in mantra-like whispers. "Now, there's no use panicking, Hermione. It's only a bad dream, that's all."

She continued to pace the halls, finding herself wandering to the small outdoor square that led to her adjacent apartment above the shop floor. "Just go inside and go to bed. You're going to be fine, Hermione. You're going to be fine," she resigned, beginning her climb up stairs that suddenly seemed so far and narrow to her quarters.

'_I've got to stay calm,' _she thought as she reached her room. Why did she feel so tired all of a sudden? She had only traveled up one flight of stairs for heaven's sake! After an hour or so of sleep she could figure out what she was to do, how she was to resolve everything. But for now she had to rest, for that old body of hers yielded no comfort in consciousness. And even as she lay down on her soft mattress, those aches never ceased, but it wasn't long before she was engulfed in night's slumber, pains and all.

Hermione was rudely, she thought, awoken several hours later by the sound of heeled footsteps traveling up the flight of stairs towards her bedroom. Immediately, she sat up, her back instantly protesting profusely, as she began to recall the night's events. She quickly looked down at her hands, regrettably noting that they were just as old and withered as they had been hours ago.

"So it wasn't just a bad dream," she sighed dejectedly to herself, looking out her window onto the pale light of early morning.

"Hermione!" The shrill call echoed through the narrow hallway outside, announcing the arrival of her stepmother who was probably wondering why Hermione was absent from her post in the shop. The oncoming rhythm of heeled boots ceased as a rapping on her door confirmed her suspicions. What to do now? She couldn't see her this way. "Hermione? Are you in there?"

"Don't come in here, I've got a bad cold!" she croaked, knowing that the thought of illness would be enough to successfully ward the woman away. Feigning concern would add a nice touch. "I don't want you to catch it."

"You sound ghastly, like some ninety year old woman!" Her stepmother's gasp upon hearing Hermione was audible even behind the thick, wooden door.

"I'll just stay in bed all day, you go on," Hermione persisted. She very much wanted to avoid contact with the older woman at all costs until she had come up with a plan on what she would do.

"Well…if you insist." Hermione smiled as she realized her ploy had had the desired effect as footsteps could be heard walking back down the hall and stairway.

The old young woman waited and listened to make sure her stepmother was indeed good and gone from the immediate vicinity before she trusted herself to shy from under the covers in her attempt to rise from bed.

"Up we go!" she slowly slid out of bed, walking over to stand at the vanity to once again inspect herself. Facing the old woman in the mirror wasn't as bad as it had been last night, she supposed. Perhaps it had been the lack of light, but here, in the morning light, she did not feel as anxious as the night before. She smiled at the reflection reassuring herself, "This isn't so bad, now is it? You're still in pretty good shape and your clothes finally suit you."

The faint sound of laughing girls downstairs in the shop, most likely in response to one of her stepmother's jokes, arose from below the floorboards. She thought back to the excuse she had given the older woman. There was no chance of her keeping up the charade for longer than a few days. She understood what she had to do, and she was torn between being scared of it and happy that it had to be done. "I can't stay here like this. I have to leave."

And with the thought she gathered her warmest dress and shawl and, with a small knapsack, proceeded down to the kitchen to gather supplies for what she would assume would be a long journey.

"I'll never get there with these legs," she huffed, too winded to do anything other than stop and sit on the small path that led up from the valley. Hungry, she carefully took out a piece of bread along with some cheese to eat as she contemplated her next move. It had been nearly seven hours since she had left her home and night would soon be arriving. The city below had already begun to glow in the distance as street lamps and homes lit up. Being old was harder than she thought it would be. "At least my teeth haven't fallen out yet. But I can still see the town, I've barely moved!"

Finishing her light meal, for her appetite waned from what it ought to be, Hermione once again stood up to continue her journey up the mountainside. The cold of the increasing elevation began to cause her joints to ache more than what she assumed was usual, making Hermione wish for support to lean on. She would've given anything for a cane at the moment. She stopped, taking a moment to look around her for anything that she could use. After a moment, she spotted a thick, long branch sticking up from a bush.

"That might make a nice walking stick!" She approached the bush cautiously, making sure no animals were currently taking up occupancy within it. Gripping it as firmly as her two old hands could manage, Hermione began to tug at the stubborn branch. When it refused to budge, she pulled even harder. "This certainly is a stubborn branch, but you're not getting the best of this old lady!"

Finally, the branch broke loose, but Hermione jumped as she found a straw-filled body attached to it, top hat and pipe included! Upon realizing what the figure was, Hermione set out a laugh, "Just a scarecrow. I was afraid you were one of those blob men!"

Yet, something struck Hermione as odd as she took a step back to gaze upon the scarecrow's figure. To her bewilderment, she found the scarecrow standing on its own. "But how are you standing on your own like that?"

The scarecrow began to jump up and down, reminding Hermione vaguely of a pogo stick. Upon further inspection, she realized that whatever, or whoever, the scarecrow's original form was, they too were probably under a curse. Anyone who had to live with a turnip for a head was definitely under a curse, she thought.

"Your head's a turnip! I've always hated turnips, ever since I was little. At least you're not upside down now. Goodbye, Turnip Head!" And with that Hermione began to continue her trek up the mountain again. Soon, the smell of fire and wood burning filled the air around Hermione who perked up at the find.

"Someone's got a fire going! Maybe there's a cabin nearby?" She pushed harder up the mountain, fighting off the windy chill that fought her with every step taken up the mountain. Soon, however, she heard the oddest thumping sound and, turning back the way she had come, found the scarecrow following her.

"Go away! Quit following me! I'm sure you have some kind of spell on you and I've had more than enough of witches and spells!" No matter how she tried to discourage the figure from following, her words fell on deaf ears, soon finding the scarecrow in her path. Just as she was about to yell a retort much harsher than her previous, a cane with a bird's head for a handle was dropped in front of her. Even though her first instinct of reluctance bid her to ignore the gift, she knew her need for it far outweighed her suspicions. "Thank you! It's perfect, just what I need."

Hermione still did not trust this new acquaintance of hers, however, and quickly devised a plan to trick the figure into leaving. She smiled, turning to Turnip Head, "If you'd like to do me one more favor, could you run off and find me a place to stay?"

After a moment of silence, Turnip Head began hopping away up the mountain. Hermione briefly considered if, in that moment of silence, the scarecrow had actually been reasoning Hermione's request and, if her suspicions were true, it suspected her ploy. Shrugging, the old woman continued on her way, chuckling to herself, "I seem to have become quite cunning in my old age."

After what seemed a significant way, although the city below stayed relatively visible in the distance, Hermione suddenly began to hear the familiar sound of light thudding against the rocky ground. Groaning to herself, she looked up to find Turnip Head once again making its way toward her. But before she could will herself to think of her next words, a loud booming sounded in the distant. Slowly, the large, ostentatious castle, if it could be called such, appeared, billowing smoke and ash into the sky. The sound of metal gears grinding pierced the air, but for Hermione, the sound pierced a much deeper place within her.

"You turnip head!" she screamed above the near deafening roar. "That's Howl's castle! That's not what I meant when I asked for a place to stay!"

As the castle hovered near them, driven my animal-like legs, Hermione spotted a doorway to its rear, her eyes growing wide with the hope of a promise of warmth against the mountain cold.

"Is that the way in? Slow down!" she shouted, making her way toward the castle's door hurriedly. She finally reached the door, grasping the handle to steady herself. To her surprise, she found the door unlocked, the warmth and light of a fire escaping from the opening.

Hermione hesitated. This was Howl's, Fleur's, enchanted castle. Would she really be able to face the witch again after everything that had happened? After a few moments, she took a breath, turning back to the scarecrow. "It's nice and warm in there, so I'm going in. I'm sure Howl won't eat the heart of a shriveled old lady. It's been a pleasure meeting you, even if you are my least favorite vegetable. Take care, turnip head!"

As much as Hermione feared for the future, she could not help but succumb to the warmth that exuded from within. It filled her, warmed her, and lured her thoughts back to the mistress of the castle and those blue eyes.


End file.
